


Mirror of Erised

by spyrosapyro



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-28
Updated: 2011-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-21 20:26:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spyrosapyro/pseuds/spyrosapyro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Snape's reflection isn't exactly what he had expected?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirror of Erised

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own!

Severus walked past the glass, trying to ignore the ethereal being encased within. He had decided against spending this night staring into the green eyes of his lost love. He would not spend this night splayed out in front of the mirror, one hand resting against it's cool surface, mourning the loss of so many years ago. Not tonight. Not again.

She had now not only taken over his dreams, but his life. He had spent the better part of a year trying to wrench himself away from a reflection of himself, one arm hung lazily around a smiling Lily Evans. He had finally crawled from the wreckage of his past and entered reality, finding it to be a much softer place than he had remembered. Or perhaps this reality's perception of him had softened. The reason did not matter to him; reasons rarely did.

He couldn't even place exactly when, or how, he had come into possession of the Mirror of Erised; it had something to do with Dumbledore, he thought. All he knew was that he had spent too much of his life in front of it, pining for the impossible.

Dismayed by the few strands of greying hair he had come across, he had cut his hair impossibly short, and even grown a bit of facial hair, keeping it short and minimal. He had finally gone back to his career, a teacher. Except this time, he was granted the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts, and he found teaching wasn't nearly as dismal as it had been in prior years.

When McGonagall had retired from her post as Headmistress, and the Potter boy had replaced her as Transfiguration professor, (to no small amount of smug satisfaction from Snape, knowing that Defense Against the Dark Arts was really the boy's favorite) he had even been awarded the position of Headmaster, this time to really serve the school. He had been met with approval and acceptance, and he thought maybe, just maybe, his efforts during the war had been worth it.

But when he returned home to Spinner's End, none of it seemed to matter. His superficial bliss was shattered with one single glance to the mirror. He knew this, and yet he could not look away.

It got easier, he told himself. He was able to depart after holidays with relative ease, if only because he knew she would be waiting upon his return.

This dangerous thought was what kept him going throughout the day. He thought he might finally have everything he had wanted.

But sitting in front of the cursed reflection, cold seeping across the wooden floor and into his robes, he knew this was not the case. For when he looked into the mirror, he saw her. And he knew then that he did not have her, but a vision of her. Nothing more than he had ever had, or deserved.

Tonight, he vowed not to waste his remaining years in the same way he had been his whole life.

He draped a sheet over the dusty glass, and retired to bed.

 

**x X x**

  
He did not know what events had led him and the Potter brat to friendship, or he may have gone back and circumvented them. But he was grateful most days for the company, even if he did talk slightly more than Severus would have deemed necessary.

He obviously felt the need to repay a life-debt to Severus, or something of the sort. He couldn't figure out any other reason why the Golden Boy would stoop so low as to befriend a sour old man like himself.

They often sat in Harry's warm toned quarters, grading papers and planning lessons, while they nursed a bottle of wine, or the occasional Firewhiskey. Harry was one of the only people who would put up with Severus' misplaced drunken anger and snark, and would often put him to bed after a long night of complaining and ultimately falling dead to the world in Harry's large leather recliner. It was these nights that led Severus to care for the young man; when Harry would carefully clean the man up and tuck him into his own bed, and sleep that night on the couch, never once complaining.

Severus would wake up, still angry, and only start feeling guilty after a strong dose of his own hangover and Pepper-Up potions. But Potter never hung it over his head, or used it as leverage. In fact, he never brought it up at all. He simply...helped.

Severus couldn't decide whether this endeared his ex-student to him, or angered him further.

The nights where Severus was disgusted by himself, and sought to tear his own marked flesh from his wrist, Harry would be there with soothing words and calming touches. Often he would construct a strong glamour, disguising the Dark Mark among the rest of his pale skin, and distracting him enough to convince him for the time being that he had nothing to reprimand himself for. If not for Snape, Harry told him, the war would not have ended, and if it had, we might not have won.

Some nights Severus would cry, and apologize for the death of Harry's family, but Harry would shrug it off, saying he had nothing to be sorry for, and simply hold the shaking man until he fell asleep, and again put him to bed. These nights, however, Harry would conjure a cot, and stay in the room with him, should he awake troubled in the dark of night.

Some nights Harry would cry, and though Severus was never good at comfort, he would try. He would sit with the young man, and tell him that the deaths were not his fault and that he had done better than anyone in his position would have been able to. He would sit still and let him cry on his shoulder until his sobs faded into subdued hiccups and Harry issued a soft 'thank you' before laying down and falling asleep. When he woke, he was always alone in his quarters, with only the wrinkled couch cushions and a hot cup of coffee indicating that he had had a guest all through the night.

Even if he couldn't admit it to himself, Severus had let Harry in, reveling in the feeling of being cared for, and eventually, he pushed the pain of his loss of Lily to the back of his mind. No longer was it a constant assault on his emotions, but a dull throb, an ache that could easily be ignored.

He, Severus Snape, had actually connected with another person, even if it was on accident, and made a friend. With a Gryffindor; Harry Potter, no less.

But as he got to know the teenage celebrity, (who had grown into an impressive young adult, if he was being honest) the harder he had found it to dislike him.

Sure, he looked like James, and he was willing to push the limits and was foolishly brave like his father, but the resemblance stopped there. Severus began to realize that along with his mother's eyes, he had also inherited her heart.

He was constantly taking in strays, but not to collect favors from the people he had helped, as Severus had always assumed. He genuinely liked to help. He was his own person, and it was time Severus acknowledged him as such, instead of willing the boy to fit into his standards of his parents.

**x X x**

  
It was a Sunday, just before final exams, that Severus decided on it. He was sitting in the empty Quidditch stands, working on a paper for a potions journal as Harry flew through the air on his Firebolt, catching and releasing the golden Snitch he had inherited from Albus.

This particular paper was on the subtleties of Amortentia. As he sat reflecting, he thought back to the last time he had brewed it. It had been two years ago, just six months after he had started spending his time willingly with Harry.

He tried to remember what it had smelled like, but could only come up with what he assumed it smelled like.

It had always smelled like how he remembered Lily smelling: like wildflowers and rain. However, as he recalled his memories from that late night of brewing, he didn't remember smelling anything.

Could he really have let go, after all this time?

 _Impossible._

He watched Harry shoot across the blue sky as he felt the sun heat the bare skin of his arms. He smiled wistfully before packing up his things and settling in to watch.

**x X x**

  
He had returned home that night, ready to indulge himself over the Christmas holidays, lining up a plethora of potions to brew and journals to read. He had started to brew a batch of Amortentia, drunk off his realization that it no longer held a smell to him, not one he recognized, anyway. He had let go of her.

He celebrated with his oldest bottle of gin, one he had been saving for no evident reason. He didn't bother with cups, setting the smooth bottle neck flush against his lips and drinking deeply. His journals could wait.

In his gloriously drunken haze he had stumbled into his room and ripped the sheet from over the mirror. He stood there, staring, for what seemed like an eternity.

He whipped his head around to stare accusingly into his room, thinking the being must have snuck into his house. But he found himself alone.

He had turned back to the glass, slowly this time, but the reflection had not changed.

He raised an eyebrow and pointed a finger to himself, as if to ask 'me?'. The reflection lifted one side of his mouth in a familiar crooked smile and winked.

Than, as his mind was able to process the meaning of the figure in front of him, his near empty bottle of gin fell to the floor. The shattered glass mixed with the remnants of alcohol, and he stared open-mouthed at his reflection.

He ran a hand over his face and stumbled over to his bed, disregarding the burn as the broken, alcohol-soaked glass embedded itself into his bare feet.

He had fallen into his bed and smiled lazily to himself, for once looking forward to a Lily-free sleep, and not having to use any potions to help him achieve it.

  


**x X x**

  
He had awoken the next morning with a staggering hangover and aching feet. He had laid in bed for hours, until finally finding the strength to reach for his wand and summon the remedial potions he needed.

His alarm rang in an incoming firecall, and he grumbled his way down the stairs to his living room.

He had found Harry's head sitting in his hearth, and a spark went off somewhere in the back of his mind, but he had shoved it away, unable to put any substantial reason to it.

Harry invited him to the Burrow for Christmas Eve, and after no small amount of coercion, Snape had accepted ungracefully, effectively kissing goodbye any real work he had intended to accomplish.

The holiday had been surprisingly pleasant, though Severus wouldn't be caught dead admitting to it.

He had gone to the Burrow for Christmas Eve, and ended up staying three days extra, upon spurring from Harry. They had drank copious amounts, and the red headed clan seemed to be amazed that Harry was in fact friends with the sallow man. They had all thought it codswallop, for sure.

He had played Exploding Snap once, before recalling exactly why he had despised the game to begin with, and even indulged himself in a chess match with Ron.

Harry and him had shared a room, which he didn't mind, as the young man often came to bed long after Severus had fallen asleep. He awoke much later as well, and Snape noticed he habitually talked in his sleep in the early hours of morning. Severus sat listening to him for a few minutes each day before alighting downstairs to indulge in his daily cup of coffee.

He had returned home from the Burrow content and slightly off-balance, not used to a life filled to the brim with others, especially boisterous others.

He had slept long and hard his first night back, not realizing how much he missed his own bed, even if his room was slightly too large and empty upon returning.

**  
x X x**

  
The night before he was due to return to Hogwarts, he glanced over at the mirror. He had astutely ignored it since his fit, but he wondered all the same if it had really happened. He had been drunk, after all.

He had rubbed the tiny scratches on the bottom of his feet absently as he stared at the glass from his perch on his bed. He sighed deeply, feeling at least twice as old as he was.

He had gotten up then, his curiosity finally getting the better of him. He had closed his eyes as he positioned himself in front of the mirror, taking a deep breath.

When he had opened his eyes again, he wasn't really surprised, he had only tried to tell himself that. But when he reflected later, he had always known what he would see.

Her eyes. The eyes he thought he had finally escaped. Her eyes stared back at him.

 _Her eyes._

Framed in _his_ face.

Harry Potter stared back at him. Seeing his reflection in the Mirror of Erised, his mind was catapulted into realization. He had been nurturing these feelings for quite some time, he suspected, but it was his nature to suppress such feelings; what good did they do him?

He _wanted_ Harry, he wanted him with a passion that was completely foreign to him.

But it was more than that; he _loved_ Harry.

He had spent the night, sitting cross legged in front of the mirror, looking back over the time he had spent with the man. He had let Harry in, and he had enjoyed it, legitimately enjoyed it.

He smiled wistfully at his reflection as Harry kneeled behind him, softly running his hands through his now shaggy hair. Harry smiled back, eyes sparkling with a reverence Lily's never held.

He had returned to Hogwarts the next day with a new resolve.

 

**x X x**

  
It was only three weeks later that a Transfiguration class was interrupted by none other than the Headmaster himself. He had strode purposefully into the room, growling Potter's name.

The students had all gone pale, but Harry turned a single, questioning glance his way.

It had overthrown any semblance of control Severus had managed to attain, and he had ended up marching right up to the young Professor, looking him in the eye and kissing him square on the lips.

He had gathered the slight figure up in his arms as he kissed him back, and when they finally broke apart, panting, Harry promised to seek him out as soon as the school paused for lunch, casting a quick glance over at his students. A slight blush adorned his cheek, and Severus had reached out a hand to stroke the soft skin before he could stop himself.

He had kissed his nose once and adjusted his glasses before casting a disapproving glare at the class of now gaping sixth years, and retreating back to his office.

Harry had come for lunch, as promised, and had smiled shyly at him before falling once again into his arms.

 

**x X x**

  
They had gotten married two years later, in the fall. It had been a small affair, close friends and a few colleagues. The reception was small; the ceremony even smaller.

Their honeymoon was spent on an unplotted island in the Mediterranean, and they had returned a week later to a quiet home in Hogsmeade.

**  
x X x**

  
Severus had woken up in that house, next to Harry for the past twelve years.

Harry had run out and bought him black dye as Severus found numerous grey hairs, and even helped him to dye it without laughing too hard at the sour expression throughout the affair.

They had seen headlines and articles, too many to count, speculating on their relationship, and had ignored them valiantly together, knowing that no one would truly understand their feelings for each other. The ones that mattered had accepted it, and they paid no mind to anyone else.

And one day, while Harry was out shopping, Severus had nervously wiped the dust from a forgotten mirror in the attic.

He had traced his fingers over the engravement at the top, and followed the edge until his finger fell away from the wood.

Finally, he lifted his eyes to meet that of his reflection.

His mouth twitched into a smile, and only his own, smiling reflection smiled back at him.

Severus Snape held everything his heart desired that night, when he held a sleeping Harry Potter tight within his arms.


End file.
